Good Intentions
by Set and Drift
Summary: Part 1 of 4  Tells the story of the other project and how it got started. Al is getting mysterious phone calls, what Sam remembers and what the staff remembers are constantly changing. Is Al changing the future of the project?
1. Chapter 1

Hang onto your hats with this story! This was part 1 (written in 1997) of what was intended to be a trilogy, but I pulled a Douglas Adams and it became a 4-parter with an interlude in the middle. When I got to the 3rd story and realized it was going to be easily twice as long as the first 2, I cut it in half. The first story lays the ground work – not a lot of Sam (sorry, Sam fans), but he's in there and he has a much more prominent role in the next 3.

The first story has a pretty low confusion factor, I believe, but must this series absolutely must be read in order. As always, all my stories are complete before I begin posting, so you will never be left hanging with half a story. I hope you enjoy them and I LOVE feedback! Generally, I say I will not rework my older stories, but I am in the process of having them reprinted to fix old typos, so any constructive feedback may potentially alter the story slightly.

Enjoy!

Ann Marie

**Chapter 1**

January 1997

Los Angeles, CA

Christina Meth sat back from her desk and rubbed her eyes. She had been sitting there fiddling with equations, deriving, converting, and computing for almost five hours now. The one thing she wanted more than anything was a massage. If there was anyone remaining in the building at this hour, she would have sought him or her out to get one, but all people on normal hours had long since left for home. The dark, dank feel of the room she was in began to irritate her and she walked abandoned it to go outside into the cool air. A strong wind lifted her hair and swirled it around her face, obscuring her vision. She closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh scent of the out of doors. It was an incredible thing, she reflected, when Los Angeles air seemed fresh and clean, a sure sign that she was spending too much time in the office again.

She had a meeting tomorrow. Something about finances, no doubt. Her apprentice did all the corresponding with her sponsors; she let the woman do her job without taking any particular interest in it herself. Her apprentice...she ought to be in the building still. She rarely left before Christina herself did. Employee loyalties, she presumed, not that she was all that familiar with the concept. Her own employers were infrequent visitors in her labs.

Christina entered the building again and looked into the small room adjoining her office. A figure lay slumped over her desk, supposedly asleep. Christina didn't have the heart to wake her. Every so often, the scientist did come up for air and notice what was going on around her, contrary to popular belief. Besides, she was going to find something worthwhile to do, something that would make a difference. And once she did, there would be no need for people to look down on her. What good was it to be a genius if you didn't use your talents to help other people?

She abandoned the plainly exhausted woman and returned to her own sorry excuse of an office. She sat down at her desk and pulled out a magazine from the top drawer. Pushing aside pages of figures, she spread out the magazine on the desktop. Despite her care in handling it, it still showed creases from common usage and she smoothed them gently. Several other articles fell from the pages: newspaper clippings, print outs, and pictures. She pushed them out of the way and read the magazine again. Here was something to aspire to, really. She wasn't certain her sponsors agreed, but she was hoping to persuade them to see it her way. You couldn't take without giving something back. That is, if the man eventually had. The article was a little vague on that point, as all of the articles were. Her hands sifted through the newspaper clippings until she found the one she wanted. It seemed that Dr. Samuel Beckett disappeared off the face of the earth in early March 1995. Almost two years ago. What was really odd was that Dr. Beckett's colleague and friend Admiral Albert Calavicci could not be reached for comment.

She had her own set of theories on the matter, not the least of which was that he was doing what he had set out to do in the first place. How exactly what he was doing was benefiting anyone was one of the many matters on which she and her sponsors differed. Perhaps he had been silenced or perhaps he had given up on the prospect and was working on something else not nearly spectacular enough to catch the public eye, but she doubted it. She may be dense, but no one was **that** dense.

Christina pushed the articles back into the drawer and closed it softly. She really didn't care about what had happened to him in the long run. She supposed the same thing happened to him that would happen to any man of his intellect: either he was controlling the government or they were controlling him. But it wasn't her concern. She was more interested in his fascination with time travel. She had years ago read everything of his there was to read on the topic, but she could never quite get it. Unlike he, she had limited her talents to one area: quantum physics. She would spend hours upon hours trying to figure out his equations, but he often performed incredible leaps of logic that were difficult to follow. He apparently didn't write down what was obvious to him. In other words, there was a lot he didn't write down.

A noise from behind her caused her to turn in her chair.

"Still here?" her accomplice asked, rubbing her eyes. She slipped on a coat and headed for the door. "Well, I am going to do the unthinkable and leave while you're still here, if you don't mind. Four days in a row of this is just too much."

Christina laughed softly. "Of course. There's really no need for you to stay, especially if you're just going to fall asleep on the job."

The words were light and teasing, but the woman heard the underlying seriousness Christina could never seem to shake. It unnerved her and made it very difficult to be around the scientist. "Sorry," she felt compelled to say. "I'll see you on Monday? I hope you don't need me this weekend. Oh, I'm assuming you're working." It was a statement, not a question.

"Naturally. So much to do so little...time," she responded anyhow.

The woman was slowly edging her way out the door. "Right. Well, see you then."

"Sure," Christina said to empty air. "See you then."

September 2000

Stallions Gate, NM

Al Calavicci walked the halls of the project slowly. He was feeling a little run-down as of late and then last thing he was in the mood to do was to hear the proposal for another dead-end retrieval program. But he'd said time and time again that he wanted to hear as soon as anyone got anything and he couldn't change his mind now. Besides, he really did want to know, he just didn't want to trudge through the administrative drudgery to get the funds and personnel to test the theory.

He rounded the corner and almost ran into Tina, which was a pleasant surprise. "Where are you going in such a hurry, Al?" she asked in smooth, silky tones.

He slid an arm around her waist in comfortable familiarity. "Aw, Sammy Jo has a new theory she wants to run by me. Sam landed yet?"

She snuggled a bit closer. "Nah. He's only been gone for about two days. Hopefully we've got a couple days left."

He kissed her lightly and released her. "Well... I had better go. I've got some paperwork to get out of the way, but are we clear for dinner?"

"Sure. I made us reservations at some classy restaurant in town. Can't remember the name, but it's supposed to have a nice dance floor." She looked at him wistfully. "It's been a while since you took me dancing."

He grinned, pulling out a cigar. "Well, we'll have to do something about that. Talk to you later honey."

She walked away and he paused a moment to offer an appreciative glance before lighting his cigar and taking off in the opposite direction.

Al always felt faintly uncomfortable talking to Sammy Jo. He spent an unusual amount of time with Donna, though, and knew her well enough that he had made the decision to keep Sam's secret from the both of them. Now, he listened patiently as Sam's daughter outlined her new theory. He had to admit, as he listened, that it was certainly the most plausible solution he'd heard so far, but it was still, in part, way over his head. He gave nods where he thought appropriate, supporting her desire to get Sam home if nothing else.

"Well? When can we get started?" she asked breathlessly, having finished her explanation.

"I'll get the paperwork filled out in the morning and we can hopefully start within the week," he responded.

She smiled and he was about to rattle off a list of forms he needed her signature for when Ziggy interrupted with her usual lack of consideration.

"Admiral? There was a message left for you in your office. I think you ought to see it. It sounds serious."

"What kind of message, Ziggy?"

There was a small pause. "Well, if I didn't know better, I'd say it was almost a ransom note. Is there something that **I** don't know about?" she asked in a manner that clearly indicated her disgust that he could be involved in something of which she was clueless.

"Ransom?" he asked, startled onto his feet. Sammy Jo moved uneasily at his elbow. "What do you mean ransom?"

"I do believe you need your ears cleaned out. Or do I need to repeat it again?" Ziggy's voice sounded superior and injured.

Al knew better. "No, Ziggy, you need to repeat that about as much as you need to be more assertive with your opinions. I'm on my way up to my office. We can talk again there." He gave a little sigh and turned to Sam's daughter. "Sammy Jo, we'll talk later, okay? And I'll still see about getting that stuff filled out tomorrow. I don't know what this is all about, but it is obviously someone's sick idea of a practical joke, or a case of mistaken identity." He patted her lightly on the shoulder.

"No problem. There are always bugs to be worked out in the theory, and I'll just work on that. I have a good feeling about this one." He smiled but didn't comment; she said that every time.

Up in his office, Al examined the computer printout of the message Ziggy had taken. He sat down in his chair and frowned.

Admiral Albert Calavicci: You will meet us at the warehouse off of Plantation Drive in Santa Fe at exactly 11:00 PM tomorrow night. You will enter the building alone and unarmed. We have a hostage and she will be executed in the case of deceit. Thank you for your time.

"'Thank you for your time'?" he mouthed in utter amazement. Had it not been such a serious security breach, he might have laughed. And then, aloud, "Ziggy, what the heck **is** this?"

"Admiral, I informed you earlier that it is a ransom note. The message was received through a fax and the call could not be traced. That is all I know."

The first thought that ran through his mind, aside from the obvious, was that he had no idea who could possibly want to speak with him so badly that they thought a hostage was necessary. Had somebody got wind of their project? And if they had, why all the fuss? He realized with a start that he also didn't know what they wanted him for. He shook his head and stared at the wall. "Ziggy? Put a call through to Admiral Payne. I don't know why I was sent this note, but I certainly can't ignore it. And I also can't just go to a warehouse to help a potentially non-existent hostage for no apparent reason." He sighed. "Let's just wait and see if she has any ideas."


	2. Chapter 2

_My apologies for the long delay - we had some medical issues in the family and I had an employee quit, so it's been a little crazy. Plus I had no reviews until recently so I wasn't sure if anyone was reading and/or was interested in more!_

_Here are a couple chapters to make it up to you. _

-Ann Marie

April 1999

San Francisco, CA

Dr. Christina Meth twisted the phone cord around an anxious finger. "Hello?" came the voice from the receiver.

"Yes, I'm calling about my appointment tomorrow afternoon in Santa Fe. This is Dr. Meth. I'm afraid I'm not going to make it."

"One moment, please," returned the voice without preamble and she was put on hold.

Christina gave a little sigh and leaned back in her chair. Not much had changed over the past couple years. She was still in the same office in the same building with the same desk, she still had the same assistant, and the same people were still sponsoring her. Unfortunately, she also still hadn't figured out the secrets of time. Time hid her treasures well and she rarely disclosed anything to prying minds. Dr. Meth knew that as well as anyone, but she had developed another theory as to the location of Dr. Beckett and she was beginning to suspect that time had made an exception and perhaps he had cracked the code.

She tapped a pencil on the table and reflected on the fact that the last thing she wanted to do was spend time talking Senator Franklin out of a meeting. They were keeping her on hold a long time and this was her dime she was dishing out here. Long distance from LA to Santa Fe could get pretty expensive, especially in the middle of the day.

"Senator Franklin," he said in brisk, business like tones and she jumped despite herself. Even miles away, he still intimidated her. Then again, offhand, she couldn't think of anyone the man didn't intimidate.

"Senator, this is Dr. Meth. I am calling because I don't think I will be able to make that meeting tomorrow."

"I beg your pardon?"' he asked and his voice chilled her to the core. She wished she had had her assistant handle this; she was better at dealing with Christina's sponsors than Christina herself. But her assistant hadn't been seen in a couple days. Christina wasn't entirely aware of the implications of this yet, she was so absorbed in what she was doing that she only tended to notice the woman when she needed something done and she wasn't there to do it. Like now.

"I have a lot to do and I think I'm on the verge of something that-"

"Have you forgotten who sponsors you?" he demanded forcefully. "You **live **off of what we give you. You work off of it, you eat off of it, and you sleep off of it. And I will not have my employee telling me how to run my affairs. A plane ticket in your name for Santa Fe will be arriving at your home tonight. You have one day to pack your things because you're moving to Santa Fe."

Her mouth dropped open. "You're kidding," she stated, momentarily forgetting whom she was talking to.

He ignored her comment. "I don't think you will mind this meeting, doctor. I think it may offer the opportunity you've been waiting for."

"What?" she choked out.

"I have a new project up in the works. It's very top secret and not even the government knows about it. And you are going to be the Head Scientist. We will get all the information for you and all you have to do is decipher it and assist in creating and maintaining the project. I will be the Project Head and you will report directly to me. Any more questions will have to be discussed once you arrive."

"Can you at least tell me what it involves?" she asked.

"Not on an insecure line. The messenger tonight will have additional instructions. I will pick you up at the airport tomorrow." He hung up without warning, but Christina was already too immersed in what she was thinking to notice little details like that, let alone object to them.

She waited all day, for the first time unable to concentrate on her work for curiosity's sake. At around ten in the evening, there was a knock on the door of her apartment. She rose and went to the door, opening it slowly. A nondescript man stood stiffly. Wordlessly, he handed her a manila envelope and walked away. She took it to her table and emptied its contents onto the smooth surface, shaking it gently to make sure that was all it contained. Some plane tickets fell out and she picked them up, noting her departure time. Her home was a conglomeration of boxes and bags, and typed out neatly on another sheet from the envelope were directions about the moving of all the things she couldn't take with her on the plane, which added up to a surprisingly few cases of belongings. Well, it surprised her; it would not have surprised the few who knew her. And that was all there was.

She opened the envelope again, peeking inside to see if there was anything she had missed. Sure enough, nestled in the corner where she had been holding the envelope when she emptied it, was a small piece of torn notebook paper, folded in two. She fished out the paper and opened it to reveal two words: "time travel".

September 2000

Stallions Gate, NM

"Admiral Payne, I'm glad we got hold of you."

"Al," the motherly voice responded warmly. "It's been a while since I've heard from you. The Navy keeping you busy?"

"Always, Maria," he responded, thankful that she reverted to the first name basis. "I have a problem and I was wondering if you could help me with it."

"Always glad to lend a hand."

"I got a phone call the other day that concerns me and possibly project security." He took a deep breath and lifted the note, reading it slowly to her over the phone. When he finished, his hand dropped as if a string had been cut and he leaned back. "Honestly, I have no idea how to handle this. Defense and security is your area, got any ideas?"

There was a shocked pause. "Why don't you turn it over to the local authorities, Al?"

He breathed out slowly. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea. If this person knows something about Project Quantum Leap, they could make a pretty nasty scandal. I know my office number isn't even traced to this location, but how did they get hold of it in the first place? And then there's their claim to worry about. I mean, if they do have a hostage, we may be risking his or her life. But I also am not too keen on the idea of going there by myself unarmed without the slightest clue of what's going on."

"I can't say as I blame you." She cleared her throat and gave a small sigh. "Well, you're perfectly capable of handling this yourself if you feel up to it. But don't go alone, okay? And I wouldn't go unarmed, either. You never know if they're lying."

He gave an uneasy laugh. "I hadn't planned on it. Thanks, Maria, I just needed to know I had the okay to clear this up myself." He smiled. "You and I are going to have to get together next time I'm in your neck of the woods. I believe I still owe you a dinner."

She laughed. "I'm not sure my husband, Tom, would appreciate that unless he came along."

Then it was Al's turn to laugh. "Just so long as he sits at a different table. I'll talk to you later, Maria."

As soon as he hung up, he set about gathering some of his people together for the following evening.

September 2000

Charleston, SC

The man walked slowly around the apartment and turned to his wife. "I don't know where she could be. She should have gotten back days ago. She's been gone for days and nobody even knew? How is that possible?"

The woman moved next to him and gently took his arm. "I'm sorry, Matthew. She was taking three days after the conference off from work, they said. The authorities checked with the Santa Fe airport and she never went to pick up her tickets."

He sank down onto the couch and buried his face in his hands. His wife lowered herself slowly beside him and wrapped a supportive arm around his shoulders. He smiled weakly at her. "There's so much going on lately. And now this. And neither of us can really afford this time we're taking off from work. This would be easier if she had just come back to live with us when dad died. But you know my mom...she's got to do it all herself. Wonder woman," he added somberly.

"It's not a crime," she said. "She was too dedicated to her profession here. Besides, just because she lost her husband didn't make her an invalid. Matthew, we've got to go get a motel room before it gets too late, okay?"

He closed his eyes and sagged lightly against her comforting embrace. "I don't want to go home until we've found her. We have to go to Santa Fe."

"There's nothing we can do. And we can't get in the way of a police investigation."

"Andrea, she's my mother!"

"I know," Andrea said gently. "Let's just stay here for the night, okay? I'm sure your mother wouldn't mind considering the circumstances." She paused. "Do you want to talk to the police commissioner before they leave?" He nodded and she went outside to get him.

A moment later, a short, heavy-set man entered the room with Andrea trailing behind him. "Commissioner," Matthew greeted, wiping his eyes and rising to shake hands. The officer nodded in response, obviously having forgotten Matthew's name. "What can you tell me about my mother?"

He cleared his throat slightly and motioned for Matthew to sit back down, sitting himself in an armchair across the room. "All we know for the moment is that she did not leave Santa Fe by air. I can give you the name of the detective in New Mexico who is going to be handling the case and you can call him any time for more details. At this time, all those who attended the conference with her are being interviewed. We haven't come up with anything at this time, but you'll be the first to know if we do. Um, forgive me for asking, but don't you have a brother?"

Matthew cleared his throat. "Brian. Yeah, he's in Africa at the moment doing research work, though, so we haven't been able to reach him yet. But we're working on it."

"Good. Well, I'll leave you alone now and if you have any additional information or questions, please, don't hesitate to call." He stood and Matthew did as well.

"Thank you for all your help. And I was wondering if there was any way I could help..."

The officer looked uneasy for a moment. "Sir, these guys know what they're doing. I'm sorry to say it, but all you really can do is wait. But we'll keep you updated. Ma'am," he added, turning to Andrea, and he left.

Matthew sank back down on the couch as soon as the door closed and sighed. "'Wait', he says. 'Wait'. How long do you wait before you give up hope?"

Andrea had no answer for him.


	3. Chapter 3

July 1985

Atlanta, GA

Sam opened his eyes slowly, but he still couldn't see anything because it was so dark out. Then his eyes widened and he felt the other side of the bed he was sleeping on. His hand met with an empty pillow, much to his immense relief. If there was one thing Sam truly hated, it was leaping in next to someone he was supposed to know intimately.

He sat up and reached for some source of light. Before he could find it, he heard the sound of movement from the far side of the room and he groaned in despair. He had come so close. He was gratified to note that he had on an undershirt and boxer shorts, which was promising. He waited, but nobody joined him. "Hello?" he hazarded, pulling back the covers and sitting on the edge of the bed.

The sound came closer and Sam felt the cold hard muzzle of a gun press up against his head. He tensed and swallowed hard. "Don't talk," said a voice at his side.

_Where are you, Al?_ he thought to himself with increasing panic. He had a bad feeling about all this. It was hard not to when someone was holding a gun to your head.

"Get up and get dressed."

Sam obeyed, fumbling around in the drawers for a pair of pants while at the same time making note of his surroundings. It appeared he was in an apartment, in a small bedroom area. Through the open door he could see the small kitchen with an adjoining living room.

"Hurry up!" the man yelled from behind him and Sam turned so he could catch a glimpse of his attacker. With a photographic memory, one glimpse was all it ever took. The man was small and lean and very afraid. He looked like he hadn't shaved or possibly showered for at least a couple of days, as his thickening stubble showed. He was dressed all in black, casual clothing, but his encounter was anything but. The thin sharpness of his face revealed more than a hint of desperation and Sam wondered if that had anything to do with what was going on.

"What is it you want?" Sam asked. He paused before his next question, unsure if he should voice it without Al's council, but he saw no other opportunity. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The man didn't respond, but he didn't call Sam crazy either, so maybe he didn't know this man after all. He didn't say anything at all, but advanced a step with the gun.

"Okay," Sam said quietly. "Okay, just calm down now. Please, put down the gun. You don't need it. Just tell me what you want and we can clear this up."

The man's eyes narrowed and he shook his head. "I don't think so Mr. Price. Go outside." He tossed Sam a set of keys. "You're driving," he said. He was starting to look a bit more confident about himself and Sam could feel his chance slipping away. Well, at least he knew now that this man knew him, which was something.

"Please, if you could just tell me what it is you want, maybe I can help you."

He paused, the hand that held the gun trembling slightly. "You want to know what I want? I want my life back, that's what I want. I want you to give me my life back. You go about your life and work your way up and you never even stop to think of the people you grind underneath your heels while you do. But I will not be ignored. You don't remember me? Fine. I shouldn't have expected any less from the likes of you. Now," he grabbed Sam's arm roughly, "get outside."

Sam stumbled out onto the damp lawn, noting the BMW parked off to the side. He was pushed to the worn-looking sedan parked out front in hasty abandon and his head connected with the roof of the car, causing him to wince in pain. His captor pushed him over to the driver's side and got in himself, the gun still trained on Sam. "Look, you don't want to do this. I can't give you your life back. I'm sorry."

"Shut up," the man said evenly.

Sam gripped the steering wheel and started the car. "Where are we going?"

"We? **You** are going to commit suicide. **I** am just along for the ride. Drive. I'll tell you where to go."

_Suicide,_ thought Sam frantically. Where was Al?

September 2000

Santa Fe, NM

Al glanced back behind him at the three cars parked side by side, mostly obscured by a smaller building so that whoever had set this up wouldn't detect them. He felt better knowing they were there, even though it meant that he had to put them on for extra hours. He hadn't wanted to sacrifice project security on this, but neither did he want a potentially innocent person to die because he decided not to go or because he gave it up to the authorities.

There were no other vehicles around and he walked slowly to the warehouse door, feeling the reassuring weight of the small handgun he was told not to bring. He hoped it wouldn't cause any trouble, but with as little information as he was going on, he wasn't about to take any chances. The door opened with a sharp creak and Al winced. The inside of the warehouse was dimly lit, always a bad sign, and there was no sign of anybody. He was uncertain whether to sneak in or yell out, but he figured the door had already announced his presence to anyone within. The slightest noise echoed in the massive, empty room. He slid through the small crack in the door he had created, motioning to the troops in the cars to hold off until they received a signal. What kind of signal he would send, he wasn't yet sure, but if worst came to worst, the sound of a gunshot would send them running.

"Hello?" he hazarded softly and the echo of his voice caused him to regret it. The room had stacks of carts everywhere in a maze-like formation with one clear view right down the center. He realized that he stood in that plain view and he moved quickly to one side to get out of it.

The sound of movement like a soft scuffle reached him, but due to the echo, he was unable to tell where it was coming from. "I want to see the hostage," he tried again, but there was still no response. He walked slowly forward, taking care to remain out of the direct path in the middle, wishing it were safe to take out his gun. He wasn't but fifty yards into the place when he saw the figure lying on the floor. A woman lay bound and gagged in the middle of the room, wiggling furiously. He knew instinctively that it was a trap, but he couldn't think of anything else to do other than try and help her. He crouched low to the ground to try and get close enough to pull her behind the shelter of the crates and then gunfire erupted overhead.

Al reached out and grabbed her by her leg, dragging her to safety, simultaneously reaching behind him to get his gun. The doors exploded inward and the people he had brought filed into the building, returning fire with seemed to be ruthless accuracy. The ear-splitting noise went on for a full five minutes, at least. Al got off a few shots himself, but made sure that nobody put themselves in any danger seeing as the hostage was safe and there was no apparent reason for anyone to risk their lives more than they already had.

Finally, the racket ended when it became clear that the enemy had gone out the back. Al had half of the troops go outside to try and find where they had escaped to while he and the other half advanced cautiously on the spot where the shooting had begun. He steeled himself for a gruesome sight, but everyone was gone. There were no bodies and there was no blood. He could only assume that in the whole darned thing there had been no casualties at all.

"That doesn't make any sense," Al muttered to himself, stooping to find any clues as to what had caused all this. "Why call me here, hand over the hostage, and not shoot to kill?"

He straightened and looked at the man standing next to him. "Corporal, let's clear out. Go find out if they found anything outside."

"Aye aye, sir," the man responded and walked off.

Al raised his voice a little. "The rest of you, I want you to go over this place with a fine tooth comb. I want to know everything. Every speck you find, report it to me." He spun angrily on his heel, suddenly remembering the hostage he had left behind. He crossed the room back to the location he had left her at and she lay there trembling and scared, and no doubt as confused as the rest of them. "It's okay," he said gently, kneeling beside her. She was breathing hard and he reached down to remove the gag, holding her steady as she gasped for air. "It's okay," he repeated, "nobody's going to hurt you."

She was coughing furiously, probably because of all the dust in the place. Al helped her sit up and was about to untie her hands when he got his first good look at her and he gasped a little bit, almost letting her go in the process.

"Alia."

August 2000

Santa Fe, NM

Christina entered the room slowly, hesitating to tell the senator what she had to. "Senator, I am telling you that I just can't get any further on the equations on my own. I have tried everything. I am very sorry." She was uncertain what else she could say, or how he would react to it.

Senator Franklin leaned back in his chair and she couldn't erase the mental image of a panther lying in wait, biding his time before pouncing. "We predicted this."

She wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or offended. "You did?"

"Yes. After all, you're brilliant, but you're no Sam Beckett. If you've gone as far as you can, it's time for phase two."

"What does phase two involve?" she asked, shifting her weight anxiously.

He smiled. "You don't need to concern yourself with phase two. Suffice it to say that, shortly, you should have all the information you need to finish the project. Give us another two months after that and we will not only be able to travel through time, but we'll have someone specially conditioned to do it."

She narrowed her eyes. "What are you going to do? You're not going to hurt anybody, are you? I'm doing this to help people, not harm them. What good is it if we hurt people to get what we want?"

He stood, slowly, menacingly. "Thank you for your advice, Dr. Meth, but we have invested a great deal of money and time in this and we are not about to stop because you are having problems with your moral fiber. You never had problems in the past."

"You never talked in such drastic tones before," she pointed out, warming to her subject.

"If you had had your eyes opened, you would have seen that our methods have not changed one bit."

"Then I quit. I don't want your money anymore." It was a desperate grasp at straws, which she had failed to keep focused on all this time, and he knew it.

He smiled. "You won't do that. This is your dream."

"I don't care," she said, and she almost believed herself. "You can't keep me here. You can't force me to do this."

His smile widened. "A fool believes what he wants to believe while the wise believes what is. That, my dear, is why the wise will always control the fools."


	4. Chapter 4

September 2000

Santa Fe, NM

"Admiral, we just got a call for you from Project Quantum Leap," the corporal said, handing Al the phone.

"Calavicci," he said, tucking the gun back into his waistband at the same time.

"Al?" Verbena asked. "Sam's landed. And from the data Ziggy's shooting out here, it would seem he's in a bit of trouble."

He nodded sharply and motioned for his troops to continue as he got in the car with the corporal. "Wonderful. His timing is, as always, perfect. I'll be right there."

About a half hour later, Al marched into PQL, Alia and two guards in tow. He had been getting the details of Sam's situation over the phone on the way and so he had had little time to dedicate to Alia. "Put her in some personal quarters and stand guard," he instructed, barely slowing as he swept into the Control Room and retrieved the handlink from the console upon which it had been resting. "Verbena, I have a job for you while I'm in there," he told her, already walking up the ramp. Things didn't sound good for Sam. If only he had been at the project when he leaped, he could have prevented the mess his friend was now in, but it was too late to worry about that.

She paused in the middle of wading through printouts Ziggy was frantically spitting out to spare him a glance. "Shoot."

He heaved a sigh. _When it rains..._ "I have a guest I need you to examine. It's-" he paused for another deep breath "-Alia." Al barely caught Dr. Beeks' reaction as he swept into the Imaging Chamber.

Al's heart fell at the sight that met his eyes. Sam was barely able to offer a glance in his direction; he was too intent on driving and following the sporadic directions the gunman in the other seat was offering him.

"Damn," Al murmured. "Sam, I'm sorry..."

Sam swallowed. "Just where is it we're going?" he asked carefully.

The man responded immediately, cocking the gun to emphasize the point. "I told you to **shut up**!"

Al winced. "Sam, I'll give you all the information you need, don't worry. Just don't get him angrier than he already is, okay?" Sam nodded slightly, trying to ignore his insides churning. Al spoke in soft tones, evenly and slowly and Sam appreciated his attempts to calm him. "Your name is Senator Wilson Price. You're a big time politician whose motto appears to be that other people are merely stepping stones to personal success." Al shook his head in disgust. "Three months ago, you, well, Price fired this guy, um, Andrew Sems, because he asked for a week off for his wife's surgery. When he got fired, he couldn't afford the operation, which was for cancer of the larynx, and she died. She died..." he paused as he pried the information from the handlink. "Ziggy, I am **not** in the mood," he intoned in a cold, hard voice. The handlink responded with what Sam could have sworn was a frightened squeal and Al continued. "She died a week ago. The guy's got two kids and he hasn't been able to find another job. I guess it sort of got to him. I have here that Senator Price died in an apparent suicide when he...jumped from the top of a sky rise at exactly 3:00 AM this morning." Al's voice wavered slightly as he reached the end of his recitation.

"Andrew," Sam said cautiously.

"Ah, so you remember my name now, do you?" he pressed the gun closer to Sam's skull. "Well, now's a bit late. Give me back my job and...and Jessica and I'll let you go. Otherwise..."

"Jessica's his wife, Sam," Al interjected unnecessarily.

"I can't, Andrew. I can give you a job, but I can't bring back your wife. I'm sorry," he replied honestly.

"I don't need your pity!" Andrew snarled.

"Careful, Sam," Al warned, running scenarios through the computer as fast as he could. "He's wound pretty tight. Try talking about his kids. If he gets caught, they'll suffer, too."

_I don't know if that would work. I don't think he's exactly planning on getting caught, Al,_ Sam thought sourly and years of observing for Sam caused Al to realize what the look meant.

"He may be less inclined to do this if you make him see what it could do to his children," Al persisted. "Even if he's not caught, maybe-" he stopped suddenly and Sam shot him a questioning look.

Andrew didn't notice the glance. "Yeah, you give me my job back. You do that and where would it get me? She was my life, and now she's gone because you didn't need me anymore and heaven forbid you should have one more person on staff than you absolutely need." His voice had an unpleasant tone to it that set Sam's nerves screaming.

"Sam," Al was saying in urgent tones. "You haven't touched him yet, have you? Sam?"

Sam was giving Al the most frustrated look he could manage and Andrew finally noticed it, misinterpreting the look. "Yeah, you have the compassion of a politician all right," he slumped back in his seat, suddenly calm. "But that's okay."

"Geez, Sam, this guy is really starting to scare me," Al muttered and Sam couldn't agree more.

"That's okay because you're going to be dead soon and Jessica's senseless death will be avenged, at least." Andrew smiled slowly and it sent shivers up and down Al's back.

"Sam, you didn't answer me: did you touch him?" he repeated slowly. Sam thought back, wondering at the absurdity of the question. But he trusted Al and Al's judgment and he wouldn't be making such a big deal about this if it weren't important. Slowly, he shook his head and Al tensed. "Alia," he whispered and Sam's eyes widened partly in protest, partly in amazement.

Alia was free, he remembered. Besides, even if it were Alia or Zoe, they wouldn't hesitate to just shoot him and ruin both of their lives. Irritated that he couldn't voice these thoughts to Al, he wondered what made his friend think of that in the first place.

"Stop the car." Andrew's voice cut into his thoughts and he reluctantly put the car in park and turned off the ignition. Andrew smiled.

September 2000

Stallions Gate, NM

Lieutenant John Harrison, who was actually Herbert Kessler, walked out to his car with a self-satisfied grin. His mother always said he'd do something big with his life, that he was so smart he could probably crack any code. And he could, too. This case was harder than usual, granted, but he had still done it. And he had been brilliant. Clever, too. "The admiral instructed me to retrieve his sidearm from his quarters" indeed! And he had fallen for it, the fool. What kind of security was Calavicci running here? Of course, when the corporal called up to confirm the orders when he thought Kessler was out of sight, he had had to shoot him. Pity, really, that it was only a tranquilizer. But that gave him easy access to the admiral's quarters and his computer terminal. Then, of course, there was the computer to contend with. Those he was working for had somehow gotten the admiral's security codes weeks ago, and in this business, you didn't ask how. A simple downloading of information did not go as a warning in the system, so all he had to do was convince the computer that he was Admiral Al Calavicci. Difficult even for the computer genius, but with enough persistence, any system can be cracked, even one with a consciousness. That plus planting a little virus in the system a week before led to a successful raid. The virus only attacked minor systems, but it was just there as a distraction.

Kessler got into his car and drove off, leaving Project Quantum Leap in the dust. Aside from Senator Franklin, he was the only one of the group who knew where the project was, and he wondered if they were going to try to dispose of it after they were up and running. He didn't ask where Franklin came across that information either.

Of course, Kessler wasn't privy to the information that Senator Franklin was a member of the senate subcommittee that did regular evaluations on PQL, but what would have done with that information if he had known? And rule number one was never give away any more than was absolutely necessary.

September 2000

Santa Fe, NM

If the woman had known that Matthew and his wife Andrea had already discovered her absence and notified the authorities, she would have breathed a little easier. A little. And if she had known, she would have been wrong to do so because there was no way the authorities were going to find her where she was. Not only did she not know where she was, but also she hadn't the slightest clue why.

The woman took a shaky breath, rubbing her neck gently. She assumed she had been grabbed and drugged as she went out to her car to return home from her annual conference in Santa Fe, but that was based on the fact that that was the only memory she had before waking up here was leaving the building where the gathering was held. Waking up hadn't been such a pleasant experience, either. She swallowed hard at the memory. Her wrists and ankles and even her neck still hurt from where sharp rope had cut into soft flesh. Mercifully, she hadn't been left there for too long. She had no idea why she was the person they picked for whatever it was they wanted, but she hoped she was about to find out.

Senator Franklin smiled from the chair behind his desk. "Ms. Ingalls, please have a seat."

She made no move for the chair. "What do you want?"

He leaned back with a self-satisfied grin. "Trust me, you don't want to make this any harder on you than it already it. Originally, we were only going to require your services for a day or so, but plans change, correct?" She felt she would rather do anything than sit in the chair, but she felt lightheaded and sick to her stomach and it was either that or collapse, and so she sat slowly down.

"So they say," she commented dryly, rubbing her neck again.

He laughed. "Forgive my manners. Can I get you something to drink?"

She gave him a hard look, but didn't respond. He called in his secretary anyway and requested a glass of water. "What do you want?" she asked again. He was completely too self-assured and calm for her liking.

Franklin twirled a pen between his fingers and eyed her thoughtfully. "You were originally going to be a bargaining chip with an adversary of mine, but someone else beat you to the spot. We thought..." he eyed her again in a manner that made her squirm in her seat. "We thought you might be better suited for her job than she. You have more training, more education, more variety of interests."

She ran a hand through her dark hair, and cleared her throat. "I'm not looking for a job," she said, trying to inject more conviction in her tone.

"No, but we're offering. Tell me, Ms. Ingalls, how do you feel about...time travel?"


	5. Chapter 5

July 1985

Atlanta, GA

The hum of the elevator as it ascended was the only thing Al could hear over the sound of his own breathing. The desperate look Sam threw him was almost enough to send him into a fit, but he tightened the grip on his own emotions. He glanced at the handlink in his hand and saw scenarios flashing faster than he could read. There was really nothing else he could do, except pray, and he wasn't inclined to do that.

Andrew stood behind Sam, the gun still pressed against his head, offering no room for Sam to maneuver. He was pressed against the corner so that he could easily hide the gun should anyone join him in the elevator.

"Okay, Sam, Ziggy's got an idea," Al said suddenly, startling Sam and causing Andrew to push a little harder. He was starting to develop one heck of a headache, but that was nothing compared to the problems he'd face if he didn't get out of this. Why would God, Fate, Time, or Whatever want him to save this nozzle's life anyhow? "Sam, you need to hit the alarm button on your way out of the elevator and then stall until security arrives. Ziggy says that's your best bet." Al's voice sounded low and strained and Sam wanted to ask what the odds were but Al's refusal to volunteer the figures indicated that he probably didn't want to know anyhow.

Sam reached out a hand towards the controls carefully, trying not to alarm his captor. "Up a bit, Sam," Al instructed, twisting to get a better view. "One button over. That's it, Sam. Now just wait a second..."

The elevator lurched to a stop and Sam hit the button as he was dragged out onto the rooftop. The July heat hit him full in the face and he flinched, thankful that it was night. "Wait," he cried out as Andrew yanked him to the edge. "Andrew, please, you don't want to do this. What about your children? What will happen to them if you go to jail for this?"

The man laughed. "Why would I go to jail because you committed suicide?"

"But I'm not Senator Price!" Sam cried out in last-minute desperation.

"Sam..." Al warned.

"Please, I'm not him!"

That at least stopped the death march over the edge - literally. "What do you mean you're not him?" he demanded. Then a cold humor came over his face. "Oh...that's right, you're his evil twin."

"No," Sam sucked in a breath, eyeing the open elevator door, wishing they would hurry up. "No, I'm Dr. Sam Beckett. I'm a -"

"Too much, Sam," Al said quietly. "You've got his attention for better or for worse, don't give away any more." Sam hesitated and Al was uncertain if he wanted Sam to listen to him or ignore him. His insides were knotted up so tightly that he actually started to feel physical agony as a result.

"You're a what?" Andrew asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"I'm not a politician," Sam improvised. Al looked on with hopeful eyes.

"So how come you look like Senator Price? I'm not buying this for a moment." He smirked. "I was about to say you're not crazy, but I don't believe in passing hasty judgment."

"Sam, Ziggy says they're on their way up. Just hang in there!" The sound of the stairwell door caught the trio's attention and Al breathed a sigh of relief. Then he checked the handlink. "Sam, you've got to do something! Ziggy says he's gonna kill you **and** himself!"

"Stop!" a guard yelled, one of two that had come up to investigate. "Put down the gun."

"I can't," Andrew said, his voice oddly calm.

"Andrew," Sam whispered. "I'm innocent. I'm not Price, but if you don't believe me, then think of your kids. They're innocent. You wouldn't just be hurting me."

"Now he takes my suggestion," Al said, but there was no anger in his voice, only anticipation.

"I'm doing this for them. For her," he insisted, but he sounded less sure of himself than before.

"No," Sam said. "Listen, you've got your job back and I won't press charges. But if you do this, you'll be in prison and your children will be no better off. Please."

Andrew paused and Sam touched his arm gently, as much to calm him as to assure both himself and Al that the man holding him at gunpoint was indeed Andrew Sems. Not that his earlier proclamation that he was Sam Beckett wouldn't have done it. Andrew flinched at the contact, but he sighed and Sam felt something inside of the man break and crumble away. Al saw it too and motioned for Sam to take the gun. He did and security converged on the spot.

"Remember," Sam said to Andrew and the guards, "I promised you your job back and that I wouldn't press charges." Andrew nodded and Sam sighed with relief, certain that Andrew and two witnesses would be enough to force Wilson Price's hand. "I'll be down in a moment," Sam told them.

Al blew out a breath he felt he had been holding for the past ten minutes and smiled at Sam. "A little too close for my comfort. You okay?"

Sam nodded, walking back slowly to the spot where Al "stood". "What happens to him, Al?"

Al began punching buttons. "Well, he starts working again and he seems to turn out okay. Oh, and get this, Senator Price starts to knock off his Scrooge act and..." Al trailed off, a thoughtful look on his face.

"What?"

"Well, Andrew must have mentioned that little 'I'm Sam Beckett' thing to him because he's on the Senate Subcommittee for Quantum Leap. I remember he was one of our main supporters back when we were just getting started. Must have recognized your name and put two and two together. And he was responsible for getting us our budget increase this past spring."

Sam grinned. "I knew there had to be a reason I was here to save this guy. So he turns out all right?"

Al pulled out a cigar to celebrate. "Sure does." They stood in companionable silence as Al lit up. "You know, Sam, there has been some weird stuff going on back at the project and I was sure for a moment that Andrew was Alia."

Sam gave him a puzzled look. "Who's Alia?" he asked, and leaped.

September 2000

Stallions Gate, NM

Al walked slowly down the ramp, a confused expression pasted on his face. Why would Sam not know who Alia was? Unless he just swiss-cheesed it. That had to be it; his run-in with Alia was not one he was likely to forget.

"Where's Dr. Beeks?" Al asked the short, nervous scientist.

Gooshie shifted his weight and tilted his head. "She's in with...**her**."

Al sighed and walked to the guest quarters, wondering what to make of this. He didn't get but two steps into the room when Verbena motioned for him to go back out. With a raised eyebrow, he complied and she joined him. "What's the story?" he asked.

Verbena eyed his cigar, but refrained from comment. "Well, I asked her a few questions and she said that she had no idea what I was talking about."

"Verbena," he said in slow tones, "I just spent the last half hour watching Sam held at gunpoint and almost thrown off a building. **I** have no idea what you're talking about."

She grimaced and nodded slowly. "Okay, start at the beginning."

"Nice idea."

She ignored his sarcasm. "I didn't want to question her on things that hadn't happened yet, so I had to kind of make them round-about, if you know what I mean. Al, she didn't seem to have any idea what Project Quantum Leap does, and the concept of time travel seemed absurd to her. She has been working with a Dr. Christina Meth for the past four years, but doesn't even know all that the woman has been working on! Then, about a year ago, the people Dr. Meth work for called them both to Santa Fe and she was moved into a military complex, was how she described it. Al, she doesn't remember what happened to her most of the last year! I can't figure out if it's repressed memories or what, but if the people we think had her did indeed have her, I wouldn't be surprised."

"So she claims any information she could have she's forgotten?" Al gestured with a hand. "Nonsense."

The psychiatrist shook her head. "I think she's telling the truth. Of course, I could be wrong, but..." she trailed off when she saw the look in Al's face. "What?"

He didn't say anything for a moment, trying to order his thoughts. "Verbena, Sam didn't remember Alia."

"So? Sam forgets things all the time."

He shook his head. "Do you think it's possible that **we** changed the future? That we changed her future?" Al gestured to the door with his cigar.

She thought for a moment. "No, I don't think that's possible."

"No, wait think about it. Sam changed the future by leaping, right? And by running across Alia, he changed what I know of the future, too. So what if originally, I let Alia go and she fell right back into the hands of whoever it is that's behind this mess."

She shook her head. "Then how come I remember her?"

He chewed absently on his cigar for a moment, unwilling to admit he didn't have an answer yet. "I hate to admit it, but she did the right thing in the end. Ziggy detected a minor change in the time stream for the better the moment she leaped out of that prison. That's how come we know she's out there on the other end of things for once. What if...what if she didn't know what she was getting into when she got into it? I told you how swiss-cheesed Sam was when he first leaped. It would be easy to make her think things that weren't true, but what she was told to do went against her nature and in the end she couldn't do it." He paused again. "What if she just did it because she wanted to go home? What if she was just lonely? It's not a crime. What if she just wanted to go home?" he asked again. "Isn't that what Sam's trying to do?"

Verbena wasn't sure if he wanted her to answer or not, so she just nodded.

Al tucked his free hand into his pocket, abnormally subdued by the thoughts he was having. "The question is: will keeping her safe alter the timeline for the better, or for the worse? Will Zoe leap instead? In which case, she'd shoot him without a second thought." He had contemplated keeping Alia out of harm's way earlier, but then decided against it. Now, he was starting to think that it might be the best way after all. He knew Alia had to be an innocent, but he would never be able to forgive himself if something he changed caused any harm to Sam.

Verbena, for her part, was wondering how Al knew Alia in the first place; she certainly had never heard of her. "Al, I'm no physicist. I'm having a hard time following this. Maybe you should bounce your theories off Donna." He nodded, but she stopped him before he could go. "There's one more thing you should know. Dr. Meth worked for Senator Franklin."

Al closed his eyes and felt the entire world fall to pieces around him.

September 2000

Santa Fe, NM

"Please, drink," Senator Franklin urged, pushing the glass of water that had finally arrived into her hand. She tried not to recoil because she really wanted that glass, but something in his eyes made her want to run from the room. She was still watching with a kind of detached manner as the situation formed around her, not quite able to accept that it was actually happening to her.

"Time travel," she repeated for the third or fourth time since he had brought it up.

"Yes, we are looking for someone to be our link to the past, if you will. My associate has already agreed to perform services as a guide, an observer. She is quite accomplished. The scientist to whom we owe our ability to decipher the information we have gathered had donated her assistant to the task, but, after a short debate, we decided you would be more suited to the job. Alia is so...squeamish." He grinned. "Weak."

She was curious despite herself. "And what would you have me do? What would be the purpose of doing that in the first place?"

"Simple: to alter what is into what should be."

Ingalls narrowed her eyes. "To benefit you."

"Where opportunity provides, yes."

"And where it doesn't?"

He leaned forward and she reclined slightly in her seat. "Don't you find chaos fascinating?"

The glass in her hand started to tremble and she raised her other hand to help still it. "What if I refuse?" she asked, testing the waters.

"Simple. I haven't given you that option. Conditioning will begin in one week."

She swallowed and placed the glass on the edge of his desk for fear she would spill it. "Time travel isn't possible," she insisted, still trying to deny her position.

"Ah, but two men have found a way to do it. Dr. Sam Beckett is, as we speak, in the past, changing things here and there. If he can do it, why can't we?"

"How do you know this?"

He gave a small sigh of pity for her ignorance. "Because I'm on the committee that approved it. Oh, I fought against it, of course, but I lost. So I'm turning that loss into a win. Admiral Calavicci fought the good fight, but we have already slipped in and out under his nose and we have all the information we need." She closed her eyes, missing the satisfied look that shone in his eyes, feeling a fist closing around her, pushing all the air out of her lungs. "And if we **do** need any more, he has to report to us - to me -monthly, and I can get any information I need. And that, my dear lady, is all I am inclined to tell you. I do regret having to tie you up again, but construction isn't complete and we have nowhere else to keep you. I do hope you will be comfortable."

A tall black man entered the room at his call, slender with short, dark hair cropped close to his skull and cold brown eyes. He smiled at the woman sitting in front of Senator Franklin, his sharp features twisting into an expression of pleasure. "Please come with me, dear. I think you will find your new room to be to your liking."

It was pointless to protest, and she allowed herself to be led out of the room, looking as if the spirit, the life, had been pulled out of her. A small part of her wondered what would be left over when it was.


	6. Chapter 6

September 2000

Santa Fe, NM

Dr. Christina Meth took a deep breath, trying to force herself to go through with it. She was in too deep, she knew, over her head and Senator Franklin didn't care if she drowned. After he had what he needed. Even Christina wasn't naive enough to miss the obvious fact that he would gladly eliminate her after she did her part to get the project up and running. That is why she had to do this now, before that time came. It was time to stand up for the ideals her community believed in, time to crawl out of the hole she'd willingly climbed into because she hadn't wanted to know what was going on.

Still holding her breath, she twisted the knob and entered the room. Senator Franklin's secretary looked up with a cold gaze and raised an eyebrow in question. "May I help you, Dr. Meth? I'm afraid Senator Franklin isn't in at the moment." The woman's face clearly indicated that she was too busy to be bothered.

Christina noticed she was twisting her hands anxiously and she forced them into stillness. "Oh, I know he's not in," she said, squeezing out a tight smile. "He needed - I needed - some calculations from his office and so he said I could come get them."

"One moment, please." The woman lifted the phone and dialed a number. There was a pause and it felt to Christina that the entire room held its breath along with her. "Senator Franklin? Dr. Meth is here; do you know anything about this?... Yes, sir... Yes, she said she needed something from your office... Of course." She hung up the phone and cocked her head, motioning to the door. "You have one minute to find what you need."

One minute. That might not be enough time. "Thank you," she said and hurried into the office. She closed the door almost all the way behind her and moved quickly to the desk, pulling some papers out of her coat pocket as she went. She placed the papers on the corner of the desk and opened the filing cabinet.

"Come on," she muttered to herself as she flipped through the pages with muted panic.

Finally, her hand settled on a sheaf of papers, stapled together and she pulled them out eagerly, placing them on the desktop half on top of the forms she brought in. She gave a silent prayer of thanks for her photographic memory and flipped to the second page entitled "Project Quantum Leap Senate Subcommittee", scrolling down with her finger until she reached the fax number and phone number for Admiral Albert Calavicci. If anyone could help her, it would be him, she was sure.

She allowed herself a small sigh of relief, but didn't slow her movements, well aware that there was a time constraint. She put the papers back and closed the filing cabinet. No sooner had she turned back to the desk then the office door opened and the senator's secretary looked in with a suspicious air.

"One minute is up, Doctor."

Christina smiled and held up the papers she had brought in the room herself. "That's okay. Found 'em." She crossed the office and walked by the other woman, fighting hard not to reveal her anxiety.

_And this,_ she thought, _was just the easy part._

September 2000

Stallions Gate, NM

Al Calavicci didn't know exactly what to do with the information he had just been handed, but he decided that it was time to talk to Alia himself. Senator Franklin was an influential force on the subcommittee for the project and the first rule of combat was to know your enemy. He had always considered Franklin his enemy, with the man's constant suggestions of budget cuts and demands for reports and extra meetings at each opportunity, but now he knew there was much more going on that he had been totally unaware of. Alia lifted her head as he entered the room and fixed her sharp blue eyes on him. He caught and held her gaze, looking for any hint of the malice he had seen there before. Sam had changed something somewhere along the line, perhaps just by the initial act of leaping and it had drastically altered...something.

But **could** Al change the future? The future that was destined to be? He thought of the present as being altered, constantly re-written by Whomever, but could he himself change the future that was already written? This wasn't his second chance; it was only his first. Would things turn out as they were meant to be no matter what he did? But Sam had forgotten Alia, which indicated that, regardless of what he may think, he did change something.

Wordlessly, Al crossed the room and sat in a chair across from her. He pulled in a deep breath and made his decision. If he let her go, they would just get their hands back on her, he realized. And unless it came down to either her or Sam, he could not send her to be trapped in time. It was bad enough that he had failed in stopping Sam, but...

Al shied away from that line of thought and looked up at Alia again. In the end, she had been free. _Like Sam is free?_ asked a bitter voice in his mind. "I need to talk to you," he said finally, breaking her gaze as he spoke.

Alia blew out a sigh and looked down at her hands, resting limply on the table. "I don't know what to tell you. I don't remember a whole lot, and what I do remember, I told Dr. Beeks."

Al nodded. "Do you remember if Dr. Meth's experiments had anything to do with time travel?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly in disbelief. "I don't know exactly what she was working with Senator Franklin on, but I know that time travel was always a special interest of hers. She was always going on about Dr. Sam Beckett. He was the scientist who got her into that stuff. She claims she even met him once. Heard of him?"

A wry grin formed on Al's face. "You could say that, yeah."

She cast him a puzzled look, but didn't respond. "Well, Dr. Meth worked, and still does work for all I know, for Senator Franklin. I don't believe she was supposed to tell me that because most of the time she'd dance around the subject of who was sponsoring her work, but Dr. Meth wasn't always all there, you know? Many times she even had **me** talking to him, making excuses for her absence or some other odd job she couldn't be bothered to do herself. I mean, she's a genius and it can be a thrill to work with her, even in spite of her odd nature, but she can be a little...out there at times. Just completely unaware of what's going on around her."

Al grinned a little. "Yeah, I know a person or two like that."

"Right, then you understand." Alia was starting to relax, to warm up to her narrative. "Well, one day I get a call from her asking me to go in her place to a meeting in Santa Fe. So I go and these two businessmen tell me that Dr. Meth was supposed to take a tour of their facility. Well, I called Dr. Meth and she said she didn't remember anything of the sort, which is not altogether surprising and so I wasn't suspicious. But she tells me to go and take notes for her." Alia paused to take a sip of the water Dr. Beeks had apparently brought in for her earlier. She shivered and whether it was due to a flash of memory or the lack of, Al couldn't say. "So I went with them and that's all I can remember. I couldn't even say where we went." Her hand trembled and she leaned back in her seat.

Al cocked his head, turning over the information in his mind, connecting the pieces of the puzzle that he could. "And what's the first thing you remember after that?"

She shivered again. "I remember them telling me-"

"The same two guys?" Al interrupted.

Her brow furrowed and she opened her mouth, but nothing came out for a moment. "I don't remember. Maybe." She shrugged. "Sorry."

"Go on," he urged, leaning forward in his seat.

"I remember them telling me that they found someone else for my job and that it would delay the start of the project a bit, but it was worth it. In the meantime, they had another job for me and that's when they decided that I'd be more valuable as a - hostage."

Al felt a twinge of pity that he never thought he would feel for this woman. He thought back, trying to recall new memories that were years old. He still recalled Sam leaping into Jimmy LaMotta for a second time, but things still happened differently. There was still a gun involved, he thought, and a woman with dark hair. He just couldn't recall yet. He closed his eyes trying to grasp the fading memory.

"Are you okay?" Alia asked, leaning forward to touch his arm.

He snapped his eyes open and she drew back at the pain they held, although he couldn't say why. He sighed, his concentration broken. "I'm fine. Listen, we're going to keep you here, where you'll be safe, okay?"

She studied him carefully, saw how much that decision had cost him, and nodded slowly.

September 2000

Santa Fe, NM

Christina noted as she entered the room that Ingalls, the woman Franklin had told her to work with, was not tied up. Apparently, much to her good fortune, he had decided an armed guard would be enough.

The room, if it could be called that, was quite a vile place. It was deep in the bowels of the building, with exposed pipes, rough cement floors, and almost unbearable heat. She felt herself begin to sweat almost the instant she walked through the door. Ingalls sat up suddenly as she walked in the room. She had been curled up on the floor, apparently trying to get some sleep. The top of the plain blue dress that she wore had been almost completely unbuttoned due to the heat and she clutched the edges of the cloth together in surprise.

"I brought you something to eat," Christina said gently and turned her back to the woman while she made herself presentable.

"Thank you," Ingalls said quietly and she crossed the room towards where Dr. Meth sat, trying to find a comfortable position. "Did Franklin send you down here?"

"Actually, he doesn't know I'm here. Probably wouldn't be all that happy if he knew, but..."

"I'm afraid I don't know what's going on here," she said, reaching hesitantly for the bottle of water the scientist offered.

"I'm sorry," Christina said quickly and abruptly. "This is all my fault."

"Your fault?" her companion asked, cocking her head to study her. "Believe me, my involvement is not entirely your fault, no matter what your part is." She paused and then closed her eyes, composing herself. When she opened them again, there was a forced smile on her face. "I was just careless, that's all."

Christina let out a nervous laugh at the irony of the statement. "I've come to ask a favor. It's a big one, but hopefully it can help put a stop to all of this." The woman started to speak, but Christina held up a hand to stop her. "Please, before you accept or refuse, listen to me. I have information that could help all of us, but I'll need to get out of the complex. You-"

"Whatever it is," she interrupted, gripping the scientist's arm for emphasis, "I'll do it. Just...tell them I'm here." She held Christina's gaze as firmly as her arm. "Please."

Slowly, Dr. Meth nodded.


	7. Chapter 7

September 2000

Santa Fe, NM

The guard never knew what hit him. He heard the door open and then he felt something slam into the side of his head and he was out cold before he could even form a coherent thought.

Christina gave a grim smile. "Good luck."

Her companion returned the smile, pausing for a concerned look at the fallen man. "You too."

Ingalls walked slowly down the hall, listening intently for any sounds of pursuit. She traveled for a full three minutes before encountering anyone. Hands tensing around the gun she had taken off the guard, she ducked inside a nearby storage closet, thankful that she had on soft-soled shoes. She bit her lip, thinking a fervent prayer until he passed. She wasn't used to handling, let alone using, guns, but there was no way she wasn't going to use it to try and get out of this place.

Finally, having followed the directions Christina had given her, she reached a hall lined with offices, most of which, she hoped, were empty. If she was lucky, no one was working late today and all of the rooms were. Taking a deep breath of the refreshing cool air that she had been denied for some time, she lifted the gun and fired three shots at one of the locked doors. The handle blew off and the hall was suddenly alive with lights and the sound of the security alarm. She dropped the gun and ran.

Elsewhere, Christina listened to Thames, the Head of Security, come over the guard's radio telling them all to abandon their posts and secure the South Wing to trap their prey. He moved to obey and she slipped out the now unguarded exit.

September 2000

Stallions Gate, NM

"Admiral?"

Nothing.

"**Admiral**?"

A groan. "I'm **up**! Geez..." Al forced his exhausted body into submission and propped himself up on his elbows. "Sam didn't leap already, did he?"

"Negative."

"Oh...good." Al slumped back into the bed and pulled the covers over his head. Tina rolled over and attached herself to his arm.

"Admiral, you have a phone call."

"Ziggy?" Tina mumbled, raising her head slightly.

"Go back to sleep, hon." Al untangled his arm and wrapped it around her waist. She sighed in contentment. "That's what I plan on doing."

"Admiral..." Ziggy's voice was a warning, like a scolding parent.

"Ziggy, What time is it?"

"Oh-two hundred," she replied sourly. "And you have a phone call."

"From who?" he demanded, his words muffled by the pillow he refused to move off of.

"She wouldn't say."

"What line?"

"She's on line two...in your office."

He rolled his eyes. "And you wouldn't be able to transfer it here because?..."

She sniffed. "With that attitude?"

Al groaned again, but still made no move to get up. "You telling me someone got ahold of my office number in a top secret project, she calls at two in the morning, and she won't say who's calling?"

"That's right." Her tone had changed. Now she sounded smug. Stupid computer. Actually, brilliant computer. And that, Al thought, was the problem.

"Well, go back and tell her that she needs to give her name and one good reason that I should leave this bed to talk to her or she needs to call back at a civil hour." With that, Al pulled himself, if possible, even further into the warm cocoon of blankets.

Silence reigned for a total of two minutes.

"Admiral?"

"**What**?"

"She says that she will not give her name to anyone but you and that, believe you her, you will want to get up because this is well worth it." He could almost hear the sly grin. "Is this something I should have kept from Tina? I say dump her."

Al sighed. "Why doesn't she..." he fumbled around for a moment. "Why doesn't she just go jump in a lake?" So he was tired...

"I'll ask her," Ziggy replied.

"Ziggy," he warned, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and reaching for his pants.

Moments later, he arrived in his office and picked up the phone with little less than an overworked temper. "Look lady, do you own a watch, because it is **way** past my bedtime!"

"Admiral Calavicci?" she asked.

"Well who the hell else would I be?" he exploded, dropping himself into his chair and rubbing his eyes.

"Admiral, I do apologize, but this is Dr. Christina Meth."

Suddenly wide-awake, Al sat up and was momentarily at a loss for words. "Dr. Meth?" he confirmed.

"Yes. Admiral, I really need you to meet me someplace right now. I have some information for you and both I and a friend of mine risked our lives to get it to you." She sounded nervous and scared.

He resigned himself to the inevitable. "Where do you want to meet?"

September 2000

Santa Fe, NM

She hoped it had been enough.

In front of her, Senator Franklin smiled. Ideally, it would have been nice for her to get back to the room where she had been held, but she knew her chances for that were a million to one. But if she had done her part well enough, the woman, who's name she didn't even know, would be on her way to talk with, she hoped, Admiral Calavicci. They never actually discussed what information she had or who she was planning to take it to; there hadn't been enough time for that.

Thames stood beside the senator, his height and build seeming to dwarf the other man, had it not been for the fire in his eyes. "And just what," the senator asked slowly, "were you planning to accomplish?"

She stared at him, resisting the urge to spit in his face. Strong hands held her still and she was praying just to get out of this alive. Antagonizing him would not have been a good idea.

He backhanded her anyway and she felt the sharp sting of his knuckles on her cheek. Unable to stop herself, she let out a sharp cry, then fell silent again.

Thames smiled. "What would you like me to do?"

She was glad he had spoken because Franklin then turned his anger on him instead. "First of all, get that dolt of a security officer out of here. Deal with him. Then, I want her tied up this time. I can't believe I didn't do that before. It's a good thing she didn't do any real damage. And put two guards on her door." He turned back to her and she was afraid he would cut loose his rage on her again, but he just glowered and then walked off. "Take care of her. And remember," he looked back at Thames, "I know how much you enjoy interrogations and such but we need her alive, so just bring her straight back down and tie her up. Then I want a full report to make sure no damage **was** done. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Thames answered with a grin.

Ingalls felt her arm pulled behind her with incredible force and she winced in pain. All she could do was pray that her partner had found the help she'd promised.

September 2000

Just outside of Santa Fe, NM

A coffee shop was the last place Al expected to have a meeting, but he figured if she was out and looking for him, there were probably people after her. Who would think to look in a coffee shop?

He walked slowly down the stairs and opened the door, trying not to jump at the small bell that rang out as it hit the glass door. He let the door shut behind him and scanned the small shop. In the far corner was a woman, bent over some papers. She had long brown hair that tumbled out of the bun it had once been in. She brushed it out of her way impatiently as she studied the forms. Seeing no other women here by themselves, he took a chance and walked over to the table.

"Excuse me," he said, leaning on the chair opposite her.

She jerked her head up, startled. "Admiral?" she asked cautiously.

He shrugged out of his jacket, draping it on the back of the chair and pulled out his wallet, peeling out his identification card and sliding it across the table to her. She picked it up and heaved a sigh of relief.

He sat down and leaned back in his chair while she returned the courtesy. "What information do you have for me?" he asked, deciding to use the direct approach.

"I know where the project is. Well, perhaps we should start at the beginning. You see-"

Al cut her off with a wave of the hand. "I know there's another time travel project."

She looked startled that he even knew that much. "How?"

"Sam's run across them," was all he said.

"Sam Beckett," she murmured. He watched her steadily.

"Do you know the location?" he asked.

She looked up at him. "Yes. And I know the way to shut it down. I-I never meant for this to happen. But before we do that, we have to help a friend get out." Her voice was insistent.

"Who?"

"I...don't know her name," she admitted. "But she helped me get out and she could have died because of it."

"Hold it. Let me get this straight. You are going to help me shut down this project, but before we do you want me to risk everything to go in and help this friend of yours who may be dead?" He laughed uneasily. "Why don't you just expose the project?"

"Senator Franklin isn't a fool," she said tightly. "We expose him, he exposes you."

Al turned that over in his mind and realized she was right. "Okay, well how do we shut them down?"

"First my friend. They are going to use her for the experiment. **My** experiment. It's all my fault that this is happening, and I need your help to stop it."

"Like Alia," Al murmured, missing the end of her statement.

"Alia?" She moaned. "I didn't even realize that's who they meant. Oh..."

Al was starting to feel bad for the woman and he offered a reassuring smile. "She's with us. At Project Quantum Leap."

"Could I see her?"

"I'm afraid I can't take you there," he said. "Well, let's get your friend out. And how, exactly, do we do this?"

Christina sighed in relief and pulled out the papers she had been reading from under her elbows on the table. As she went over page after page of blueprints and personnel files she had managed to get ahold of over the past year, an idea began to form in Al's mind and the sooner he could implement it, the sooner he could shut down this project once and for all.


End file.
